A sense of timing


The rain fell hard against the windowpane, driven by a harsh wind from the North, cold, biting. She looked up from her book as a particularly savage gust rattled the windowframe. Her lips pursed as she looked out at her garden, so productive in Summer, full of fruit and flowers, vegetables and herbs, this wild, wet Winter weather transforming the normally neat and well kept space into a swamping morass of mud and wet clay. She sighed, turning back to her book as the door from the lounge to the kitchen opened slowly.

A large mug in each hand he entered the room carefully, steam wrapping around him as he made his way to join her on the battered, old, deep brown sofa, setting the mugs down on the windowsill. The steam rose, fogging the glass, momentarily hiding the outside World from her view. She smiled as he turned to face her, passing her a mug…

“I thought you’d appreciate a nice cup of tea”

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